


Arranged

by Darling_Pretty



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, F/M, Lots of awkwardness, dystopian near future setting, like so much awkwardness, married at first sight au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Pretty/pseuds/Darling_Pretty
Summary: They have six weeks to do their best to make the marriage succeed. At the end of the six weeks, they’d have the opportunity—the only opportunity—to dissolve the marriage, to divorce and never see each other again.In which Steve and Peggy attempt to navigate marriage and each other all at once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly I've been watching too much trash television and this is what comes from that.

She fidgets with the sleeve of her dress. It’s lace and scratchy; if she focuses on that, rather than the knot in her stomach, maybe she won’t want to run. Maybe.

 

Her mother puts the veil on her head, brushing back the loose tendril of her hair in the process. Her hair is precisely pinned- her mother spent nearly an hour on the elegant updo- and the Carter crest rests on a necklace nestled in her cleavage. She straightens her back, chin up.

 

“You look beautiful, Margaret.” Her mother’s eyes are wet as she speaks; she is so proud and Margaret knows it. She’s been planning this moment for years.

 

Margaret nods. She doesn’t trust herself to speak. The clock chimes eleven. It’s time.

 

Moving into the narthex, Margaret feels her chest tighten. Her mother reaches out and squeezes her hand. “It’s alright to be nervous,” she comments. “I threw up my lunch when I married your father.”

 

Margaret’s eyes squeeze shut. “That’s helpful how?”

 

“We’re still married, aren’t we?”

 

It’s the first time Margaret has laughed all day and it feels good.

 

“Six weeks, Margaret. You have to try for six weeks and give it your all. But you’ll always have a home with your father and I if you choose the other path. You know that.”

 

It’s more emotional than her mother tends to get and Margaret nods again. The harp begins playing within the chapel and it’s time for real.

 

* * *

 

She knows the laws and customs that led to her being here; every child studies it in school. High school third years take a whole extra course studying the science behind the formula, before they start their government evaluations.

 

The world was never the same after the war. The atrocities committed, the sheer loss of human life, had thrown the world into turmoil. Governments stepped up, began to rebuild lives. So many young lives gone. Repopulation became not only necessary but a priority.

 

Those left after the war were forced to cobble together existences; many people settled for relationships that were less than ideal, that all but failed. That didn’t produce nearly enough children.

 

The government stepped in, pairing up young adults with each other. At first it seemed to be nearly a lottery system, based on nothing more than a person’s professed physical attractions. The science has advanced since then, matching couples by a complicated formula that evaluated compatibility, physically, socially, and emotionally.

 

New customs dictate that you don’t so much as speak to your spouse until the wedding—always the week after the younger partner’s twenty-fourth birthday. Oftentimes, the pairings are made within the week of the wedding date. She hasn’t even seen a picture of her soon-to-be husband. They have six weeks to do their best to make the marriage succeed. At the end of the six weeks, they’d have the opportunity—the only opportunity—to dissolve the marriage, to divorce and never see each other again. If they choose not to do so—as most people did—they are married for life. If they choose to divorce, they will go their own ways, but they legally cannot cohabitate with another partner again. Of course people skirt that particular law, but there is something of a stigma surrounding divorced people and they tend to stick to themselves. Legally married couples receive incentivizing tax breaks, certain milestones come with bonuses, and couples who conceive rewarded even further.

 

Margaret is certain that she will end up divorced- she has _never_ agreed with this particular system- but her mother has spent every day for the last month leading up to the wedding entreating her to go in with an open mind, to give her marriage a real shot at success. Secretly, Margaret just thinks she wants grandchildren. 

 

* * *

 

She can’t see his face immediately; the aisle is long enough that details are fuzzy. But she can make out broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Certainly a physique she’d choose for herself, but that is nearly a given after the extensive testing she’s been put through. As she gets closer, the first smaller detail she notices is the strong line of his jaw, then the fact that even though his suit is tailored to perfection, it somehow still manages to give the impression that the seams aren’t exactly safe from bursting. His side of the aisle is woefully empty; his guests only fill the first row. Margaret’s, in contrast, are jammed into the seats.

 

It’s not until she reaches the end of the aisle, her mother patting her hand and squeezing, that she notices just how blue his eyes are. It’s just excessive really.

 

She comes to stand next to him and is gratified to see the same look of tentative appreciation on his face that she’s sure is on hers. If nothing else, they make a handsome couple.

 

Margaret isn’t sure exactly what to do now; she’s meeting this man and marrying him all in one breath.

 

“Uh,” he says eloquently. “Hi.”

 

She wants to laugh in his face, but somehow he managed to crack the code before she did. “Hi,” she chuckles and it’s nowhere near as mean-spirited as she thought it would be. “What’s your name again?”

 

“Name?” he repeats. Great. He’s sure to be a real winner.

 

“For the vows?” she prompts. “Surely you have one.”

 

“Steve!” His voice is louder than either anticipated, like he’s just as surprised as she is. “Uh,” he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. She notices a flush creeping down into his collar, but he won’t stop looking at her. “Steven Grant Rogers. My full name, that is. For the vows.”

 

She sees his eyes dart down her body, hesitating at her breasts, and then he returns very pointedly to her face.He doesn’t blame him for looking; they are pretty fantastic, according to her past flings, and her dress does them tons of favors.

 

“Margaret Elizabeth Carter,” she whispers back. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Nice to marry you,” he shoots back and she’d be lying to say she didn’t find the crooked little half-smile that comes with it appealing. Her gaze moves to where the justice is patiently waiting for them to introduce themselves. “May I?” Steve asks, and holds out his hand.

 

She finds his asking permission to hold his future wife’s hand dreadfully old-fashioned and infinitely appealing; she takes it a step further and entwines their fingers. His hands dwarves hers, but she can’t say she doesn’t like the way his fingers curl around her hand protectively. Shooting her another wry little smile that Margaret is beginning to suspect will come easily and often, Steve squeezes her hand and leads her forward.

 

The ceremony itself takes no time at all and she doesn’t pay attention to most of it. There’s a lot of stuff about honoring and cherishing, which is a holdover from the old ways. It’s hard to envision cherishing the stranger across from her.

 

It is _not_ , however, difficult to imagine bedding him. He’s tall and broad, with long fingers. She has plans for him, if he’s amenable to them. Sex within wedlock is not binding like it once was. Their marriage will still dissolve in six weeks if they wish it to, regardless of consummation. And she can’t help but think if they’d simply met in a bar, they’d be consummating the hell out of a one-night stand.

 

They’re married. They’ll keep their own last names for the time being, until the end of the six weeks, then decide what they want to do about last names if they decide to stay together. She almost forgets his middle name in her vows. He whispers it to her: Grant. He gets her name word-perfect. They’re pronounced husband and wife. The ceremony is not complete without a kiss; Steve starts to lean then seems to think better of it. Margaret tilts onto her toes and closes the gap, trailing her fingertips along his jaw. It stays chaste but she feels him relax. And then it’s over and they’re married.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Peggy go to the reception and Peggy talks to Bucky.

The guests leave for the reception. She’s left alone with her husband. _Husband_. What a foreign concept.

 

“The ring is beautiful,” Margaret comments, fiddling with it. It spins easily.

 

“Is it too big? I was going to get it resized but I didn’t want it to be too small.”

 

She cocks her head. She hadn’t picked his ring out; she’d given him the simple band provided. The ring on her finger is inlaid with small diamonds. It’s not too flashy but must have cost a small fortune. Her family has money; she wonders if his does too. Or if she should be offended he made assumptions about her taste.

 

“It was my mom’s,” Steve continues. “And her mom’s before. I think they’d want you to have it.” She looks up. She hadn’t seen an older woman in the crowd but maybe she’d missed them. “My dad died before I was born. She died when I was eighteen, but she always did want to see me get married.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Steve shrugs. Margaret doesn’t know what to say. He’s her husband but he is a stranger and she doesn’t know how to comfort him. 

 

She finally settles on “I’m sorry for your loss.” It’s not enough in any way, but still, it’s better than silence.

 

“Do you really go by Margaret?” he asks suddenly.

 

“My mum used to call me Maggie. My brother was odious and turned it into Magpie. So Margaret it is.”

 

He chuckles. “Margaret, huh.”

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“Just never saw myself marrying a Margaret.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m not entirely sold on Steven, so…”

 

He laughs. It’s deep and comes from his belly. She likes it. “It’s Steve. Really. Unless I’m in trouble with you.” His eyes sparkle.

 

“Why do I get the feeling that’s going to be often?” She wants him to laugh again.

 

He doesn’t. Instead, he touches her forearm softly. His hand really is massive. “I just want you to know, I’m really in. This isn’t just a formality for me, Margaret. Unless, I mean, you want it to be. But I kind of want to try. See where it goes.”

 

She looks up at him. His eyes are so damn blue and his gaze is tender. Margaret wonders how they will look darkened with lust or stormy with anger. But he’s earnest. She doesn’t like when she admits, “I do too.”

 

* * *

 

The party is in full swing when they arrive. It’s obvious where his friends are; they sit at their own table, although some of Margaret’s relatives have gamely tried to engage them. Margaret feels worse for Steve’s friends than anyone else in the room.

 

Steve shoots her a glance, looks down at her hand, asking for permission to hold it again. “Let’s just assume permission is granted for the rest of the day,” Margaret says and once again her hand is engulfed in his.

 

He introduces her to Nat- Natasha- first. Steve seems to like giving nicknames. The woman exudes an easy, effortless sexuality and has a razor sharp wit. Margaret takes to her immediately and hopes the feeling is mutual. Then comes Sam, who quickly charms Margaret with his smile and calming presence. 

 

Finally, there’s James and his mother, Mrs. Barnes. “Bucky,” he insists. Bucky seems to have a healthy amount of skepticism about her. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest, especially when Steve explains that they were in diapers together, that Mrs. Barnes had near the same amount of responsibility for raising him that his mom did. Margaret understands that she will have to win both of them over if she wants her married life to be easier. She thinks that she wants to.

 

Margaret takes him around to the important people—her parents, Michael. Pepper and her on and off boyfriend, Tony, who bemoans the fact that Margaret’s officially off the market. Pepper beats her to elbowing him in the stomach. 

 

Steve was gracious to everyone, but quiet. Margaret felt like that might be a pattern, or maybe he was just shy. She wasn’t sure.

 

There are no toasts, just cake cutting. Bucky claps Steve on the shoulder. Margaret thinks about smashing the cake into his face, but it seems too familiar, even if she does want to see how her new husband takes a joke. Once everyone else has been distracted by cake, she scoops some frosting off her own piece and dots it on the tip of his nose. Just to see.

 

He laughs and grabs her hand to kiss her knuckles. He drops it just as quickly as he’d taken it, looking shocked at himself. Margaret offers him the tiniest hint of a smile; they _are_ married, after all. 

 

“You’re not a Margaret,” he says suddenly. She frowns, tilting her head. What the hell does that mean? He flushes. “I mean… I just- Man, I stuck my foot in my mouth.”

 

“Yes, how _are_ those toes tasting?” she asks archly.

 

“Not as good as the cake.”

 

“Small blessings. You were saying I’m not a Margaret? I _am_ a Margaret. It’s my given name.”

 

“I just meant… It’s a pretty formal name and you… I’m gonna stop before I stick the other foot in there too.”

 

“You can’t call me Maggie. I hate it.” But she’s not entirely opposed to the idea of being called something other than Margaret. She’s never really liked her name, it’s just the only one she has.

 

“No Maggie, got it.”

 

Reaching out, she pats his knee. “Steve suits you. I can’t imagine you being called anything else.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

They sit back, falling into silence. It’s uncomfortable and Margaret wonders if they shouldn’t be speaking more.

 

They’re rescued by an endless stream of well-wishers. Margaret introduces each and every one to Steve; he shakes their hands, offers them a different smile than the one he’s given her. He’s charming; her cousin gives Margaret a thumb up behind her back and she laughs. Margaret’s mother welcomes him to the family, her father claps him on the back. 

 

Steve is drawn into conversation with them and Margaret drifts away. She sees Bucky standing off to the side, watching the party with shrewd eyes. Peggy goes to stand by him.

 

“You don’t like me,” she says.

 

“I don’t know you.”

 

It’s a fair point. “Steve says you’re like brothers.”

 

“Yup.” Clearly Bucky Barnes is a man of few words.At least around her.

 

“I don’t know him that well, but I can tell you’re lucky to know him.” He nods. “It’s not like I’m sitting here planning to hurt him.”

 

“He gets attached, you know. And he’s always wanted to get married. Never thought he would.”

 

“He never thought he would or you?”

 

“Both I guess.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

 

“I don’t know you enough to know that. I don’t know you at all. He doesn’t know you at all.”

 

She took a deep breath, twisting the band on her finger. “Margaret Elizabeth Carter. My dad’s a solicitor, Mum stayed home. My brother Michael is probably enjoying the open bar more than most, but he’s a good guy. I went to school for business and I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. Currently I’m a glorified secretary, but there’s a promotion somewhere maybe. I don’t smoke but I probably drink more than I should. And I don’t want to hurt Steve. And now you know more about me than he does, honestly.”

 

Bucky looks surprised, like she’s more than he expected and she’s glad of that.

 

“You don’t have to like me or anything,” Margaret says over her shoulder. “But I hope you do.”

 

She thinks she catches the hint of a smile on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

“You wanna get out of here?”

 

Steve’s words take her by surprise. They’re murmured in her ear and his hand rests on the small of her back. The party hasn’t died down but no one is demanding their attention anymore.

 

Margaret is drained. It’s been a long day. Her aunt and uncle gifted them with a hotel room to stay in for the night. They’ll leave on the honeymoon tomorrow, off to a small bed and breakfast in California. Gifted by Howard, Tony’s dad. He always did have a soft spot for Margaret.

 

“More than anything,” she breathes.

 

Steve’s hand rests on the small of her back as they duck out. She texts her mum from the taxi.

 

The door of the cab closes and they’re alone.

 

All alone.

 

* * *

 

The minutes drag by, interminably slow. Steve stares at her. He tries to hide it at first by ducking his head, but when she catches him the third time, he gives up the charade and is open about it. His cheeks are stained pink.

 

Throughout the reception, he’d seemed to touch her naturally, without thought. She’d done the same, laughing and resting her hand on his forearm or nudging him to point to some obscure relative she wanted to point out to him.

 

Now, they both seem plastered to their own sides of the car. And not talking. Just staring.

 

“You’re British,” he says suddenly.

 

“You’re observant.” The wry comment is cracked with a kinder smile.

 

“Do you- I mean, is your family… Do they…”

 

She manages to parse out his meaning; the stammering is endearing, at least for now. “I grew up there until I was fifteen. My dad got a job offer in New York and uprooted us. Never managed to learn to speak like a heathen.”

 

“Hey!” For a moment she thinks she offended him, but then Steve gives her that easy smile from earlier. She smiles back. “I grew up here. Brooklyn anyway.”

 

“You’ll have to show me your neighborhood one day; my mother is insistent the city stops existing outside of Manhattan.”

 

“I’d love to.”

 

Margaret turns to look at him; he stares straight forward. “You don’t know how to talk to me, do you?”

 

“You got any ideas?” he shoots back.

 

“Not a one.”

 

Steve looks down, picks at a loose string on his trousers. “You’re my wife and I feel like that should automatically mean something.”

 

“It doesn’t though. We’re still strangers. I’m still not sure I can get your full name right yet.”

 

“What’s so hard to remember about Grant?” he teases her and she smiles back.

 

“And what’s _my_ middle name?” she volleys back.

 

“Elizabeth.”

 

“Damn.”

 

He laughs again and it fills the whole car. She smiles and says, “You _can_ look at me, you know. We’re married.”

 

She watches his cheeks color and then he turns those eyes on her, catching and holding her gaze with the shy smile from earlier.

 

“I just… wow.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Wow.”

 

* * *

 

They’re deposited at the hotel and the staff is very friendly, accommodating and quiet. They’ve left a bottle of chilled champagne and a bouquet on the small table by the window. Still, for all the attempts at hominess, it _is_ a hotel room and it remains dominated by the king-sized bed. Looking at it causes a knot in Margaret’s stomach to grow, so she crosses to the window and draws back the curtains. New York glitters outside and Margaret knows that if she were to open the window, the city would be bustling with activity. The glass muffles it; they can’t hear anything.

 

Steve stays by the door. Margaret wonders if he’ll always be so considerate, or maybe he’s just unsure. She turns to face him.

 

“We, uh, don’t have to…” Steve doesn’t finish his sentence but his eyes flick to the bed and she knows what he means.

 

“Let’s just… put a pin in that for right now,” she suggests. He looks relieved. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

 

“Always, I think,” he agrees.

 

“We could order room service or we could go out…”

 

In the end they choose to order burgers from the hotel kitchen. Margaret insists on sweet potato fries and her new husband makes a face.

 

“They don’t even deserve to be called fries!”

 

“Technically they’re chips?”

 

“Oh my God,” Steve laughs. “Are you one of _those_ British people?”

 

“Who calls things by their proper name? Yes.”

 

“Welp, I want a divorce.”

 

Margaret freezes, but then she sees his face and there’s just the hint of a grin. She narrows her eyes at him and Steve breaks, laughing. “I don’t think they accept ‘she calls fries the wrong name’ grounds for divorce, Meg.” He makes a face. “Nope, that’s not it.”

 

“My name? Definitely not Meg. Margaret, remember?”

 

“No, no, I know your name. But it just…. I guess it’s stupid. You just don’t _seem_ like a Margaret. But you’re not a Meg either, if it’s any comfort.”

 

“It’s not, but thanks, I guess.”

 

There’s a knock at the door, sparing them any further awkwardness. Room service. Margaret bounds for it but Steve is closer and gets there first. He smiles at the server and lets him in. Margaret is happy to see that her new husband tips.

 

“Well, uh, dig in,” Steve says awkwardly once they’re alone again.

 

Margaret has never been one to take tiny bites or pretend that she’s not hungry. They haven’t eaten all day; her burger is gone in mere minutes.

 

She looks up and Steve looks impressed.

 

“I hate girls who pretend they’re not hungry.”

 

“Me too,” he agrees and she hears laughter in his voice.

 

They eat the rest of their meal in companionable silence. He even tentatively takes a sweet potato fry from her plate and tries it, pronouncing it at least edible. She teases him for being stubborn.

 

Finished, he flicks on the television, settling on a mindless reality show. They both lie on the bed, resting against the headboard in silence. Margaret gets an up close look at his face. Jesus Christ, you could cut steel with his jawline.

 

He looks over at her and gives her that shy smile from earlier at the altar. Margaret smiles back.

 

“Maybe we should kiss,” she suggests suddenly. Steve looks up and freezes. “Just… get it over with, you know?”

 

“How romantic.”

 

“Steve.”

 

He’s in her space suddenly, one hand under her chin, tipping her face up, the other resting high on her hip. Margaret’s breath becomes short when she meets his eyes. Slowly, he leans in; this is in no way the quick kiss Margaret had in mind. He kisses her slowly, softly at first, letting her adjust to the softness of his lips and the intimacy of sharing air. Margaret reaches up, her hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him in. Steve traces his tongue against her bottom lip and she lets her lips part winder, giving him the access he wants. She leans back, pulling him down over her.

 

Part of her thinks they should they should stop—after all, they hardly know each other. Except it turns out he can kiss and there are fireworks in her brain and he’s her husband.

 

They kiss for awhile, languid, exploring. He likes when she strokes her fingers over the short hairs on his neck. His fingers dig into her hip and she loves it. If nothing else, it's clear they have physical chemistry.

 

Finally, he pulls back, out of breath and flushed.

 

“Are you alright?” she asks.

 

Steve’s eyes squeeze close. “Not tonight, okay?”

 

Margaret raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Just, not tonight. I want to, God, I want to. But…”

 

“You don’t want to have sex tonight?” she clarifies.

 

A flush creeps up his neck and blossoms up his cheeks. “Is that okay?”

 

“Is it me?”

 

“No! God, no! You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Really. Probably way out of my league actually. And everything so far is just… it’s great. Really, really great.”

 

“But…”

 

“I also really, really don’t want to fuck this up with you. Because we’re married and I like everything about you so far and I just…. Wow, I’m already fucking up.”

 

“No, you’re not,” she assures him. “Not at all. I’ve never slept with someone less than twelve hours after meeting them. Why should this be any different?”

 

She watches him visibly relax. He tucks her hair behind her ear. “Is kissing _entirely_ off the table?” she asks.

 

“Definitely not.”

 

“ _Good_ . ”


	4. Chapter 4

They don’t have sex that first night, nor the second or third. He does hold her through the night. Steve is a cuddler, she’s realized. He likes physical affection a lot. He likes touching her. Margaret doesn’t mind at all, especially as they build familiarity during their outings together. She likes his hand on the small of her back as they walk and the chaste peck he gives her in the morning.

 

Their hotel is quiet; it’s not tourist season, something Margaret is thankful for. She’s never liked crowds and Steve always seems to tense whenever they’re in a large group. He’d been like that on their wedding day and she thought it was nerves, but he’s the same if they go to dinner in town at a crowded restaurant. She wonders if there is a reason but doesn’t feel confident enough to ask. After all, even now, they barely know each other.

 

The end of their honeymoon is fast approaching and with it any semblance of privacy in their relationship. Margaret hopes that all the good things she’s found out about her husband in the past few days are in fact who he really is. She wonders if Steve is worried like she is. He seems to take everything at face value and, other than always worrying about touching her when she doesn’t want to be touched, seems largely unbothered by the impending end of the bubble.

 

On the second to last night she suggests heading into town for dinner. He quickly agrees.

 

They find a small place, quiet enough to talk but with enough people to fill the room with a dull murmur. Margaret orders a whiskey sour, Steve a beer on draught.

 

“So you’re a whiskey girl,” Steve comments, raising his glass in a silent toast.

 

“Always have been. Vodka’s for quitters.”

 

Her deadpan delivery seems to delight Steve and he laughs, a full body laugh that sets him leaning back in his chair. He bangs his hand on the table, drawing attention to them, but Margaret can’t help but laugh too.

 

“I drink vodka,” he finally manages to chuckle.

 

“Straight or with a mixer?” Margaret asks. “There’s only one proper answer here, Rogers, tread lightly.”

 

“I plead the fifth.”

 

“Oh _God_ ,” she groans.

 

“Well, at least now I know you’ll never steal my drink.”

 

“Only because your taste is terrible,” she teases.

 

“Hey!” 

 

“I’m not wrong.”

 

Instead of answering, Steve stands and leans over the table, kissing her right on the lips. Margaret tilts her face to meet him, eyes drifting closed until he pulls away.

 

“What was _that_ for?”

 

“Just wanted to.”

 

It’s the first time he’s kissed her without asking first. She likes this side of him. Grinning at him, he smiles back. Margaret wonders what he’ll smile like in six weeks, if his eyes will still sparkle with mischief. It’s the first time she’s considered six weeks from now and she’s honestly surprised to find that she doesn’t want to rush there.

 

“Can I ask you something?” she blurts out.

 

He sits back and takes another swig of beer. “Sure.”

 

“Did you want to get married?”

 

He’s silent for a long time, weighing his words carefully. She watches the muscle in his jaw twitch.

 

“You don’t have to answer.”

 

“I didn’t…. I wasn’t expecting to be matched at all, honestly.”

 

Margaret raises an eyebrow but waits patiently for him to unpack that statement.

 

“I didn’t always look… like this. Bucky’ll tell you I was 90 pounds sopping wet for most of my life. And sick. A lot.”

 

It’s hard to imagine him small. Or sick. Her husband is, for lack of a better word, strapped. And tall. And stupidly attractive.

 

“Honestly, I wasn’t supposed to make it past twenty at all. But my mom found this doctor, Erskine and… Well, I guess I figured I was lucky enough to be alive. Didn’t think any of this could happen too. But for what it’s worth, so far? No complaints.”

 

Margaret ducks her head and hopes the dim light hides her blush. “Good. That’s good.”

 

“Are you happy?”

 

It’s the kind of upfront, blunt question she’s come to expect from him, but it still takes her by surprise. She glances up, eyes wide.

 

“Sorry, was that-”

 

“No, it wasn’t, I just-”

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

“I am. Happy, I mean. With you. Thus far.”

 

“Oh! Well, uh, good.”

 

Margaret bites her lip. “I’m not that hungry. Do you… want to go back to the hotel?”

 

He nods and calls for the check. 

 

* * *

 

They don’t immediately return to the hotel but there is a sense of urgency all the same. Margaret isn’t sure of too much in their relationship, but damn it if she doesn’t want him.

 

Safely installed in their room again, the air is painfully quiet. Steve chews his bottom lip, staring earnestly at her. Margaret taps her finger against her thigh, looking around the room. There’s a crack in the ceiling in the corner.

 

She looks at him. His body is stiff. Margaret’s heart pounds.

 

And then something changes. She’s across the room in two steps, lips crashing hard against his. Steve’s hands pull her tight, resting on her hips but becoming bolder with every passing moment. She nips his bottom lip and Steve huffs.

 

Unlike their wedding night, he doesn’t seem ready to stop. In fact, when she goes to lift her shirt over her head, his hands beat hers there, drawing her shirt up slowly and hands immediately cupping her breasts when the task is completed. His thumb brushes over her nipple through the lace covering her and Margaret can’t help the low gasp as he does it again and again.

 

It only seems fair that he should be just as naked as she is and she unbuttons his shirt just enough to yank it up and over his head. His free hand cups her ass and pulls her in, as if she could get any closer. His thigh is pressed between hers and Margaret grinds subtly against it, already wanting him.

 

They stumble to the bed and he lays her down across it. His face is flushed and he looks almost stunned as he settles his weight over her. “You’re sure?” he asks and she sees what the question costs him in the way his jaw twitches, feels it in the way his length is hardening between them.

 

He stares at her, eyes dark and breath heavy, waiting. Just waiting for her. Maybe she’ll never love him, but she likes him very much and she’s been to bed with men she’s liked far less.She reaches up and pushes back the piece of hair that’s flopped into his eyes. “You’re my husband. I’m sure. Are you?”

 

“Yes,” he breathes and then they don’t do much talking at all. He’s a quick study and insistent that she teach him what she likes. He doesn’t make a fuss when she hands him a condom, and he’s slow to push into her. Margaret wraps her legs around him and pulls him deeper as soon as she can. 

 

* * *

 

After, he falls back, obviously sated and with a dopey grin on his face. “What?” Margaret asks with a little laugh as he studies her. She’s covered in a light sheen of sweat and the room reeks of sex, but she really wants to know why he’s got this look on.

 

Steve wraps his arm around her and pulls her to his side. He buries his nose in her hair and Margaret can feel his lips against her scalp.

 

“ _What_?” she insists when he starts to chuckle.

 

“We _have_ to find you a nickname,” he finally says. “Margaret is way too much of a mouthful for _that_.”

 

Lifting her head, Margaret waggles her eyebrows in a way that suggests she’s not the only one with a bit of a mouthful. Steve’s laughter is loud and light and he only pulls her close again.

 

“Mags,” he suggests.

 

“Ew.”

 

“Marge?”

 

“Am I ninety years old? Do you _really_ want to be fucking someone named Marge?”

 

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But I’m running out of ideas. I mean, unless you want me to call you Garet.”

 

“Oh yes, _that’s_ it.” Her response is dry and clipped.

 

Steve’s eyes are growing heavy, though he seems to be fighting it. Margaret nudges him. “Budge up, I need to use the bathroom.”

 

His hold tightens for a moment before he lets her go. She stretches and only bothers with her shirt; her bones are full of the molten laziness of a job well done.

 

Steve is half asleep when she returns from the bathroom. Margaret picks up his arm and situates herself against his side. It would be futile to try and be anywhere else. She’d wake up with him around her anyway.

 

“What about Peggy?” she suggests quietly. It’s an old-fashioned nickname, one she’d have liked to try on earlier but was too shy and then she was simply Margaret. She rather likes it.

 

Steve gives an approving hum as he noses at the juncture of her jaw and neck. “Night, Peggy.” His breath is warm against her skin and raises goosebumps along her arms.

 

Then a few moments later, he nods. “I like it.”

 

She grins but says nothing, just listens to his breathing slow until she begins to drift off too.


	5. Chapter 5

The nickname sticks. Peggy he calls her and she likes it. It’s easy to respond to, easy to remember, and she’s rather fond of the times she can pull it from his lips with her own mouth or hands.

 

The honeymoon ends quickly as they return to New York. They have a temporary apartment, only meant to house them during their remaining five weeks and no longer. Transition housing, it’s called, meant to put them among other newlyweds, to give them time to find a suitable place of their own that is neither his nor hers.

 

Peggy stares dubiously at the provided mattress, bed sheets in hand. Steve rolls their suitcases into the room, immediately dropping them to come stand by her.

 

“You look… concerned.”

 

“I sincerely doubt they furnish a new mattress to every new couple that lives here for five weeks.”

 

She’s gratified to see disgust flit across his face as well. He’s quiet for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in what Peggy’s come to think of as his problem solving face.

 

“My place isn’t too far from here,” he says finally. “We could get mine. It’s the right size.”

 

“I’m going to _assume_ that yours is a more appealing option regarding the presence of others’ bodily fluids?” They really haven’t talked about their histories in that regard, except to confirm the clean bill of health given to them by testing right before the wedding. But Peggy, quite frankly, would almost prefer to sleep on an industrial, well-worn mattress covered in the result of other people’s love lives than to sleep on a mattress that he’s covered with other partners. It’s a strange, near jealous feeling that she quickly tamps down.

 

“Infinitely so. I mean, we could… _buy_ a completely new one if it’s important to you,” he offers. “But then, if….”

 

He trails off and Peggy knows that he thinks a mattress is a rather stupid thing to purchase together when there is every chance that in five weeks they’ll go their separate ways. She is inclined to agree.

 

“Yours then. Maybe we should pick up some disinfectant on the way.”

 

He laughs and kisses the side of her head. “You’re always full of good ideas, Peg. I’ll call Buck and see if I can’t borrow his truck for an hour.”

 

She likes the way he’s fallen into using their agreed name as if he’s always called her it. She sets the sheets down as Steve fetches his phone and calls his friend. There’s a flutter of nerves that accompanies the knowledge that he’s talking to his best friend. Bucky doesn’t know her from Adam and certainly doesn’t trust her. They haven’t spoken to anyone since their wedding day. Part of her is concerned that Steve will start to question the fragile understanding they’ve started to build now he’s back in contact with his old life.

 

“Good news,” Steve says as he comes back into the room, phone still in hand. “Buck said we can use the truck for the day if we want to go run errands and stuff.”

 

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Peggy raises an eyebrow. “But?”

 

“Do you wanna have dinner with Buck and Nat tonight? I know we just got here and we still have stuff to do,” he blurts out all at once.

 

“Do you want to?”

 

At least he has the good manners to look sheepish when he says yes.

 

“Let’s do it,” she says. She’s not about to give Bucky another reason to dislike her and she knows it will make Steve happy.

 

“Really? Peggy, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But the excitement in his voice already has her convinced. He looks like a child who’s just been told he can have a biscuit before dinner.

 

“Oh, it’ll be fine, I’m sure.” She waves off his concern with a breezy confidence that she most certainly does not feel.

 

He presses his lips to the side of her head. “You’re something else, you know.”

 

“Yes, I do. Now should I be getting more dressed than this for dinner, or…?” Yoga pants and a tattered band t-shirt currently make up her moving ensemble.

 

“We’re just going to Buck’s for pizza. You look great,” he promises.

 

* * *

 

In the end, she changes out the yoga pants for light blue jeans and the ragged shirt for a soft grey sweater. An utterly unassuming combination if ever there was one.

 

They pick up the truck and Bucky hardly even gives her a second glance, though he’s not _unpleasant_. They move the mattress from Steve’s utter bachelor pad. Peggy makes a point not to snoop, but she does note that he keeps a photo of a woman—she can only assume his mother—over the mantle on the electric fireplace.

 

Steve seems rather sheepish about the whole thing, including that it appears that no one with any sort of personality lives there.

 

“This is my third place in three years.”

 

Once the mattress is strapped into the bed of the truck, Peggy climbs into the passenger seat. “Three years three places, huh?” she asks. It doesn’t exactly speak to a settled life.

 

“Used to live with Bucky after my mom, uh… Anyway, we were roommates for awhile until he got married.”

 

“Bucky’s _married_?” Peggy immediately wracks her brain for a wedding ring on Barnes’ finger.

 

“No. Well, yes. But no? It’s complicated.”

 

“The answer to if he’s married is complicated? Steve, it’s a yes or no answer!”

 

“In the strictest, most legal sense of the word, no. He is not.”

 

“Oh. So he’s divorced then.”

 

“Technically, yes.”

 

Peggy is overcome with the desire to knock him upside the head. “Steve! Enough with the technicalities!”

 

“You remember Nat?”

 

“Natasha? From the wedding? Yes, I rather liked her.”

 

“I know her because she was married to Bucky.”

 

“Wait, but-”

 

“And she was there as Bucky’s date.”

 

It takes Steve nearly the entire ride back to their new place for Steve to explain and Peggy still isn’t entirely sure she gets it.

 

Bucky and Natasha had been paired in the same way that she and Steve had. The six weeks hadn’t exactly been ideal and Bucky spent the last three of them sleeping in his bed at the apartment he and Steve had shared, only seeing Natasha sometimes during the day and usually arguing if anything. When they met up with their counselor to decide the fate of their marriage, it had been a no-brainer. Clearly their relationship wasn’t working and they divorced.

 

Still, they stayed in touch and Nat stayed in New York. Free of the pressures of a marriage neither had really wanted in the first place, everything calmed down.

 

“And now they’re kind of dating,” Steve finishes.

 

“They’re divorced and they’re dating.”

 

“I think it helps, knowing they can’t go any farther. Neither really wants to admit it’s permanent, but it is.”

 

“So they love each other but they’re divorced and technically even living together is against the law, even though they were married.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Complicated.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

Evening falls quickly- more quickly than Peggy would like, if she’s perfectly honest. She can’t help but be intimidated by Steve’s circle of friends. Everything he says reveals how airtight the small group of friends is, if complicated. Peggy has never had a relationship so close in her life and attempting to fit in feels futile.

 

Still, she and Steve return the truck and Bucky and Natasha are already there. Natasha greets Peggy with a warm smile and elbows Bucky.

 

“So how was the honeymoon?” he asks.

 

Peggy looks to Steve as she answers, “It was lovely, actually. We had a really good time.”

 

“Yeah, it was good,” Steve agrees, if unnecessarily.

 

The night is fairly casual, just pizza and beer. The pizza comes from a place that Steve and Bucky both swear is the closest thing to heaven. Even Natasha concurs after some though.

 

Steve squeezes Peggy’s knee. “I’ll take you there sometime, Peg.”

 

“Peg? Thought you went by Margaret?” Bucky asks.

 

Peggy laughs, shaking her head. “Steve insisted Margaret was far too highbrow for the likes of me.”

 

“Hey! I never said- that’s not-” Steve stammers until she flashes him with a grin and he rolls his eyes, muttering good-naturedly something about being mocked for the rest of his life. Even Bucky chuckles.

 

Everyone drinks too much. Steve and Bucky get into an argument over the victor of last time they played some video game. Immediately a rematch is called and they drift into the small living room.

 

Left alone, Natasha roots around in the cabinet until she pulls out a fifth of gin. She and Peggy have talked throughout the evening but mostly just to make fun of the boys.

 

Still, there’s a pleasant buzzing sensation throughout Peggy’s body and gin will only help that, so she lets Natasha mix and pour as she will.

 

“So how’s the sex?” Natasha asks bluntly, sipping nonchalantly at the martini in her hand.

 

Peggy nearly spits out her own.

 

“Well?”

 

“Have you never chatted before? You don’t lead with that!”

 

“I just did.” There’s a challenge in Natasha’s eyes that Peggy respects. She can see the other woman watching her, gauging her response.

 

“It’s good,” she admits after a moment. “Shockingly good, actually.”

 

“I did always think if Rogers ever loosened up he’d be a good lay.”

 

Peggy stays silent; she can’t decide if Natasha is testing her or just blunt. They’re quiet for awhile, sipping their drinks.

 

“Do you love Bucky?” Peggy asks, returning one blunt question for another.

 

“Probably.” Natasha responds offhandedly, as if Peggy had asked her if she was going to the cinema over the weekend. “Messed up as that is. Do you love Steve?”

 

“I’ve only known him a week.”

 

“But the sex is good.”

 

“That’s not enough for a marriage.”

 

Natasha laughs. “Believe me, if it were, James and I would still be married.”

 

“But you’re still together.”

 

“We weren’t for a long time. Almost a year.”

 

“He seems… not to like me very much.”

 

“Steve’s his brother. And he doesn’t put much stock in this system. He probably just wants to protect Steve from our shitty marriage.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Two weeks of frantic sex and four weeks of trying not to kill each other before we could get divorced. Couldn’t sign the papers fast enough.”

 

Peggy has always imagined that would be her at the end of the six weeks. But Steve… he makes things different. More real. She certainly can’t imagine wanting to kill him.

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Natasha says in the same bored tone. “Steve is just a sulker when he gets upset. Doesn’t talk. You won’t argue. He won’t let you.”

 

They join Steve and Bucky again, ceremoniously handed controllers as they sit. Peggy demurs- she has no video game expertise, happy to sit and watch- then proceeds to decimate everyone at the racing game. Even Bucky looks impressed.

 

“Alright, perhaps I’ve played once or twice with my brother,” she admits, lips twisted into a smirk, and is rewarded with one of Steve’s big, full body laughs.

 

“You and me, Carter,” Bucky immediately challenges. “Right now. I was taking it easy on you before. Not this time. Let’s go.”

 

“Oh, you’re on.”

 

She wins again, by almost a full five seconds, and Bucky extends his hand, gracious in defeat. Peggy takes it and grins.

 

 

* * *

 

That night, Peggy is nearly hoarse and jelly-limbed as she collapses on top of Steve. He locks his arms around her and kisses her forehead chastely, as if they’re not still joined intimately, as if she isn’t lying naked on top of him in their newly christened bed, flushed and more drunk from her orgasm than the alcohol at this point.

 

“They loved you, you know,” Steve says, voice soft like he’s sharing a secret.

 

“We’ve _got_ to work on your pillow talk,” Peggy groans and rolls off of him with a sigh.

 

He chuckles and pulls her to his side. “Even Bucky told me not to fuck this one up.”

 

“I liked them too.”

 

“I like you.” His grin is corny but his eyes are serious.

 

Peggy leans forward and catches his lips in a light kiss. “I like you too. But it’s late. Take off the condom and go to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peggy’s heel echoes against the tile floor, her leg bouncing up and down. Steve puts his hand on her thigh, a subtle request to stop, but she can’t. There’s a knot growing in the pit of her stomach and she’s jittery. He squeezes her knee.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Peg.”

 

He’s taken to calling her by Peg more than Peggy, and she will happily admit she likes it.

 

“A government certified shrink is about to tear apart every good part of our relationship. No, it’s not,” she sulks.

 

“It’s not gonna be that bad. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

 

Peggy scowls. “Remember you said that two hours from now when we hate each other.

 

Steve just chuckles and squeezes her knee again.

 

. . .

 

“So tell me about yourselves.”

 

Peggy stares at their therapist blankly. They need this man’s approval to bypass relationship intervention. She _really_ does not want to spend her time locked in a room with someone who is paid to sit in judgment of her marriage or relationship or whatever she should call what she has with Steve.

 

The man is unassuming. Glasses, starting to bald, though his blond hair is still mostly blond, average height and weight. Nothing outstanding about him. Even his name is Smith. Peggy is done with him already.

 

Steve talks first, explaining his obsession with baseball, his enjoyment of art museums. That he was raised by a single mother. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard, but Peggy is surprised nonetheless; it’s the most she’s ever heard him speak about himself at once.

 

Smith turns to Peggy expectantly. She hates the look on his face, like he’s expecting her to share her whole life story with a complete stranger.

 

So she gives him an incomplete biography. Born to two parents in Hampstead, moved to the U.S. when was eleven, glorified secretary at work, considering law school.

 

“You are?” Steve asks suddenly.

 

Peggy realizes that she’s never shared that particular ambition with him.

 

Smith makes a note on the pad he has in his lap, but says nothing.

 

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a lawyer,” Steve continues.

 

“I didn’t know I had to tell you every thought and whim I might have,” Peggy snaps, then winces. She’s never spoken to him like that before. Steve looks pained but says nothing.

 

Smith makes another note in his notebook, then looks up. “Have you two given any thought to what happens after six weeks?”

 

“We’re both committed to trying to make this work,” Steve answers quickly then seems to think better of it and looks to Peggy. “Aren’t we?”

 

As an apology for earlier, she puts her hand on his knee. “Of course we are.” Steve smiles.

 

“That’s all well and good,” Smith interjects, “but I’m speaking about plans. What does the future hold for you as a couple? Your careers? Where do you live? Do you have kids?”

 

Steve’s eyes grow wide. Peggy knows her own face mirrors his. They’ve had exactly none of these conversations. So far they’ve focused on the day to day. Peggy hasn’t thought about ten seconds after their final check-in, assuming they’re even still together.

 

“I see,” Smith says. “Alright. Well, before I see you again next week, I’d like you to spend time every night discussing these things. Children, careers, finances. Where will you live? And every night, I’d like you to end by saying at least one thing you like about each other no matter how the conversation goes.”

 

Peggy almost gags at the thought but Steve grabs her hand and she keeps a straight face. “We will,” he promises before pulling her out of the office.

 

* * *

 

Safely installed back at their apartment, Peggy puts her hands on her hips. “We are _not_.”

 

“I’m not saying we have to do it _every_ night,” Steve says calmly—rationally. She is beginning to suspect that she is going to hate that voice. “But don’t you think we should maybe start planning? In case?”

 

“In case what? In case we stay together? Or in case we don’t?” she replies archly.

 

“I don’t want to fight with you. I know you don’t like thinking about the future, Peg. But if we stay together and you have an ambition, I want to know. I want to be able to support you and I can’t if I don’t know about it.”

 

It’s a good speech, an ideal one coming from her partner, and Peggy hates it. She suspects he’s going to be _much_ better at this relationship thing and she can’t help but resent that a little. It’s annoying when she’s not right.

 

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her breast.

 

He puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses her forehead. “That’s the spirit.”

 

. . .

 

He lies back against the pillows, open and willing, looking at her hopefully. Peggy perches next to him, but to his credit he doesn’t say anything about her stiff body language.

 

“Do you want to ask first or should I?” Steve looks placid, unperturbed.

 

“Why are you taking all of this so seriously?” she asks suddenly. “We hardly know each other and you’re talking about forever.”

 

He’s quiet for a long time. Peggy watches his brow furrow in thought; he rubs his jaw then runs his hand though his hair before looking up at her with a frown. “Do you want the truth?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Even if you’re probably not going to like the answer and it’ll probably scare you?”

 

“Especially then.”

 

He considers her even longer. “Because I want forever. With you,” he finally admits. “I know we just met and I know it’s this weird half-marriage thing and I know that’s probably not what you want to hear. But I… _like_ you, Peggy. A lot. And I think-”

 

Peggy holds up a hand to stop him. “If you’re about to say you love me-”

 

“I wasn’t,” he promises. “But… I could. I know I could. Because you’re smart and funny and you make me smile and when I think about the next fifty years, I want someone like you next to me. More’n that, I want _you_ next to me. I know that’s big and scary and weird and you don’t need to feel that way at all. And maybe you never will and we get divorced in a month and I never see you again. But I don’t like that option at all.”

 

“What if I do?” It’s not a kind question; he’s laid himself bare for her, been upfront and honest, and it’s not an honest question because she’s not sure at all how she feels about it.

 

“Then that’s how you feel, Peggy. I’m not going to make you stay, no matter how I feel about you. But I really, really hope you’ll gimme a chance.”

 

“Has anybody told you that you’re frustratingly perfect? Any time you feel like having a flaw would be great.”

 

He laughs and Peggy’s still filled with happiness at the sound in spite of herself. She likes making him laugh. When he pats the bed beside him, she lies down carefully next to him.

 

“It’s your turn, you know. To ask a question, I mean.”

 

Steve goes quiet again but this time she can tell he’s trying to figure out what he wants to ask. It’s not quite as loaded of a silence as before. Finally he asks, “Do you want to be a lawyer?”

 

“I don’t…. know.”

 

“Peggy.”

 

“No, I genuinely don’t! I don’t love the idea of more school and I’d have to take out loans.”

 

“But…”

 

“But I _hate_ my job right now; I feel like I do nothing but help line rich men’s pockets, if that. And if I have a law degree perhaps I can do something… useful. I want to do more.”

 

“Then that’s what you should do, Peggy. If you’ll be happier, you _should_.”

 

“It’s expensive. And _a lot_ of work. And time. You realize if we’re still married by then, you’ll probably see very little of me.”

 

Steve reaches out, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “You’ll be happy; that’s really all I care about. Besides,” he says with a cheeky grin. “In that scenario we’re still married. So I’m happy.”

 

Peggy remembers the therapist’s words- they should say at least one thing that they like about each other before saying goodnight. “I like how much faith you have in me. In this,” she admits quietly. “I like you being so sure of everything working out.”

 

He pulls her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she nestles into him. “I like how driven you are,” he says. “I like how much you care.”

 

“I like your laugh,” she replies, tilting her head up to grin at him.

 

“I like your eyes.”

 

She feels his hands starting to creep towards the hem of her shirt and laughs, catching them at her hips. “What about these?” she asks.

 

“Your hips? Yeah, I like those too.” He’s too distracted by her actions to mirror the mirth in her eyes.

 

Peggy pulls his hands to cup her breasts. “And these?” she asks innocently.

 

“Yup, like those too. A lot.”

 

She laughs and he takes the opportunity to pin her, hips pressing against her. He’s not hard yet but she know he will be soon and he dips his head, kissing a line down her throat.

 

“Oh, I like that,” she breathes. But that’s about the last cognizant thought she has.


	7. Chapter 7

“God _damn_ it!” Peggy nearly yells in frustration as she almost trips over Steve’s workout clothes. Again. While she knows she can hardly find fault with Steve’s habits as a roommate, his insistence on leaving his clothes on the floor of the bedroom as he showers is quickly wearing on her nerves.

 

Kicking the sweaty clothes into the corner, she swears her way into the kitchen. Slamming the start button on the decrepit coffee maker they’ve been provided. It makes shitty coffee that is either scalding hot or disgustingly room temperature, but even shitty coffee is better than no coffee.

 

It’s been a week since that visit with the shrink. They’ve been back once. Dr. Smith seemed convinced they were solid but mentioned that they seemed to live fairly separate lives aside from when they were sharing intimacy. Peggy can’t see how that is a problem.

 

They’re due back at work on Monday and Peggy has never been so excited to return to essentially fetching coffee and typing. There’s only so many times a day they can have sex and they’re running out of places to go that don’t cost too much money. And the apartment is claustrophobia, lit mostly by fluorescent lights and small windows that look out onto other claustrophobic apartments.

 

She hears the shower cut off and it’s only a few minutes before Steve appears in a puff of steam, wearing nothing but his boxers. Well, at least she can appreciate _that_.

 

He crosses to the kitchen, pressing a thoughtless kiss to her cheek. She’d been asleep when he’d left for his run. “Coffee smells good.”

 

“It’s going to taste like crap.”

 

“You’re a ray of sunshine this morning,” he teases gently. She scowls and she watches his brow furrow. “Peg?”

 

“Nothing. Never mind.”

 

“Peggy.”

 

“I _said_ never mind!”

 

Steve flinches and immediately Peggy knows she’s overreacted, knows she’s shown the side of herself that he won’t like. “Something’s wrong,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s your business, but I know something is wrong, Peggy.”

 

She crosses her arms, dug in now as she is. “It’s nothing.”

 

“Okay,” he nods and part of her hates him for it, for being secure enough not to push her. “I’m here if it’s something you need to talk about, Peggy.”

 

“You leave your clothes on the floor. It’s gross.”

 

He nods, but the face he makes says he knows that it’s far from all that’s wrong. He’s right, of course, but Peggy isn’t even sure she has the right words to express what she’s feeling.

 

“I’m sorry. Old habit. I’ll work on it.”

 

She wishes he’d put up a fight. “Are you _always_ going to be so pleasant and agreeable?”

 

He shrugs. “Yeah, mostly. Why? Does _that_ bother you?”

 

She rolls her eyes and grabs her coffee. As she storms out of the room and into their bedroom, she wishes he wasn’t so damn easy to like. She’s starting to develop an inferiority complex.

 

Sulking on the bed, she waits for her husband to inevitably come in and check on her. He doesn’t. An hour goes by. No Steve.

 

Finally she storms back into the living room. Steve is sitting on the couch, watching the Mets play, but he looks up when Peggy comes in.

 

“ _Well_?” she asks.

 

“Well, what?”

 

“Aren’t you going to come check on me?”

 

“Um… no? Unless you want me to?”

 

“I don’t _want_ you to. But I just…”

 

“You seemed like you need space. So… space.”

 

“God damn it, you can’t even fight right!”

 

“Wait, are you mad at me for not fighting with you?”

 

“Yeah, a little!” she admits.

 

“Can I ask why without you getting angry?”

 

“Are you _ever_ less than happy and kind?”

 

He sighs. “Peg…”

 

“It’s a little ridiculous, you know. You’re stupidly perfect.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

‘Well, you’re still too good for me then.”

 

That seems to set him off. Steve stands suddenly, crossing the room into three large strides until he towers over her. Peggy is surprised to see his eyes dark with near anger. “No. I’m not,” he insists and gathers her into his arms. She isn’t sure she wants to be touched but lets him anyway. But she doesn’t hug him back. Finally, he pulls away. “Come on, grab your coat.”

 

“What?”

 

“We’re taking a field trip.”

 

“What?”

 

“Coat and shoes, let’s go.”

 

“Has anybody ever told you you’re bossy?”

 

“Looks like I have a flaw then. Add it to the list. Coat and shoes, Peggy, I don’t got all day.”

 

* * *

 

He keeps her in the dark until he announces they’ve arrived. It’s a non-descript apartment building in the middle of Brooklyn. She frowns. “I lived here,” Steve explains after a moment of silence. “This was where me ‘n my mom lived.”

 

Peggy stays quiet, wondering what exactly brought on this fit of nostaligia.

 

“Lived in a studio apartment, me ‘n my ma. Couldn’t afford more after my dad died. But it was still better’n the other place—didn’t smell like booze. And my dad wasn’t beating the shit out of my ma.”

 

“Steve.”

 

He puts up a hand to stop her from comforting him. “I’m not saying this for sympathy, Peggy. But you’ve gotta understand where I come from.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“Even after we moved here, it didn’t just get better. Ma could barely afford it but the school district is halfway decent so she toughed it out. I was sick all the damn time too. Probably shoulda died a couple times because even though she was a nurse, she couldn’t feed us and pay rent and take me to the doctor so she just made do. I know there were nights she didn’t eat so I could

 

“An’ then, even when I wasn’t holed up in bed dying, I was just… _mad_. All the time. So mad. Wasn’t 90 pounds sopping wet but Bucky was constantly pulling me outta scrapes, dragging me home with split lips and black eyes. Got us both outta trouble way more times than I care to remember. Again, probably shoulda died.”

 

“Steve-”

 

“No, Peg, I need you to get this. I need you to understand. That’s who I was, but I never want to be that angry kid again. So I don’t get mad. I just don’t. It’s a lot easier to control my temper if I just don’t have one. My dad was an abusive bastard and he didn’t show his true colors until a year after he married my mom. By then she was pregnant with me and couldn’t leave him even if she wanted to.”

 

“Steve, thank you for sharing, but-” She wants to tell him that none of this history, none of this changes how she feels about him, but then she thinks perhaps that isn’t even the point.

 

“No buts, Peggy. I need you to know I’m not my dad. I need you to know that I’m _never_ gonna lay a hand on you. Or our kids, if you decide to tough it out with me and we’re so lucky. And I’m not gonna get mad just to get mad. But I need you to know that I’ve got my own set of problems.”

 

What can Peggy do except kiss him? He wraps his arms around her, pulls her tight and kisses her forehead when they finally pull back.

 

“I’m sure as hell not perfect,” he murmurs. “And for the record, I never thought in a million years I’d land a girl like you. You’re outta my league by a mile and a half.”

 

Peggy can feel herself thawing. Her anger and frustration is gone, leaving behind only a fierce protectiveness. She feels about ready to murder anyone who dares to stand between her husband and the happiness he so fully deserves. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispers. “I know I’m a bitch sometimes. You have the patience of a saint.”

 

He cups her face in his hands, his warm against wind-bitten skin, and looks down at her seriously. “I’m not a saint, Peg. But I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. I just hope that’s enough.”

 

“It is,” she assures him and in that moment it’s the complete truth. He’s been nothing but supportive and open with her; she owes him the same. “You are. And I am so thankful you’re the one who was standing at the end of that aisle.”

 

Smiling, he wraps her up in his arms again, resting his chin on her head. “C’mon. I know a great ice cream place around here. I’ll buy you a scoop.”


	8. Chapter 8

Peggy wakes slowly, her eyes drifting open as sun streams through the window of the tiny bedroom. She becomes aware she’s being watched and smiles. “Don’t your arms fall asleep?” she asks, voice still rusty and unused.

 

Steve grins and pulls her even tighter. “Totally worth it,” he says.

 

“Sap.”

 

He kisses her ear—probably aiming for her cheek. “Yours though.”

 

The thought warms her more than it ought, that they might belong to each other. She hums. “Last day of freedom. Back to the grind tomorrow,” she murmurs.

 

“You’re excited, don’t lie.”

 

“Perhaps. In a way. I’m _not_ excited to go back to grunt work, but I don’t like being indolent.”

 

Steve presses closer, kissing a trail of fire down her neck. He’s half hard in his sweatpants and Peggy grins. “You have the best vocabulary,” he groans.

 

“And that’s what does it for you?” she teases. “Big words?”

 

“Among other things.”

 

She turns so she’s facing him. She knows that look on his face. She’s gotten to know it quite well. Peggy smirks. “Hm, like this?” she asks and swings a leg over him, pushing him onto his back. She feels him jump and smiles.

 

Steve gulps, staring up at her. His hands run up her thighs and she grabs them, pinning them by his head. He gamely offers no resistance—she doesn’t have enough weight to really keep him pinned. Leaning down, she presses a light kiss to his lips and lets him catch a glimpse down her sleep top.

 

His gaze is heated as he stares at her and she feels him harden even further under her shifting hips. Peggy smiles and lets his wrists go to remove her top. But then he does something that shocks her—his hands come to rest on her hips and holds her still for a moment, staring softly at her face. “You’re so beautiful,” Steve murmurs.

 

She pauses; she’s never been with someone so genuinely interested in her. Certainly she’s never found anyone who stopped or slowed their pleasure in order to compliment her so genuinely. Peggy flushes and watches Steve’s eyes become playful for a quick moment before he flips her onto the bed before she has a chance to react.

 

Peggy cackles and Steve laughs too even as his hand snakes down her body and between her legs and for a time, everything is perfect.

 

* * *

 

Staring at her clothing hanging in the small closet that she shares with Steve. Nothing seems right, nothing seems like it will create the blanket of power that she feels needed, especially now that she’s married.

 

Steve approaches her from behind and kisses her shoulder. “You’re going to kill it,” he promises. “I hate that you’re nervous.”

 

“It’ll be alright,” she replies with an ease she can’t feel. “It’s just work.”

 

“They can’t see how great you are, they’re idiots,” he says and wraps her up in his arms. It’s amazing that it took so little to make her feel better, but it is.

 

“I’ll be alright, Steve,” she promises. “If I can find anything to wear.”

 

He just laughs and kisses her. “I gotta go to work. You alright?”

 

“I’ll be _fine_ , Steve. _Go_!” she replies with a laugh.

 

He presses a kiss to her cheek and leaves. Peggy found a sheath dress and blazer as well as a pair of heels that never fail to make her feel powerful. Then she does the same.

 

Work is much the same as always, but now with the added bonus of people staring at her ring as if she’s suddenly grown a second head from her ring finger. People gawk—several women exclaim how truly beautiful it is, sighing jealously at either their own bare fingers or the silver-plated government issued rings that they wear. Peggy suddenly becomes painfully aware of how ornate and personal her own ring is and how bare the band she gave Steve is in comparison. Perhaps a trip to the jeweler wouldn’t be out of place—not that Steve has ever complained or _would_. Maybe if they survive this first trial run, that’s what she’ll do.

 

“Damn, Carter,” Thompson comments, grabbing her hand—without asking of course—and looking at her ring. “What Upper East Side playboy did _you_ land that he gives you _that_ on the first go round?”

 

Peggy withdraws her hand quickly, other hand fisting by her side. But then that’s just an immediate response to Thompson being in the vicinity. “My husband is from Brooklyn, actually,” she says crisply, lips pursed. She finds that she doesn’t want to talk about Steve; she’s protective of the man who was hopeful enough to give her his mother’s ring the very first time they met. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

She goes to her cubicle, looks around; it’s rather bare. That’s never bothered her before. But it bothers her as she works away, arranging an executive’s yacht trip for October, stretching hours interminably.

 

“Hiya, English!”

 

Peggy looks up, eyes sparkling. “Angie!” The blonde woman stands, leaning over the wall of Peggy’s cube, chin in hand, and Peggy immediately stands to give her friend a warm hug. “It’s so lovely to see you!”

 

“Alright, spill. Honeymoon, marriage, go.”

 

Peggy bites her lip, hesitating though her friend looks impatient. “Shall we go grab a bite for lunch?”

 

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God, it’s gorgeous. Did you marry a billionaire or somethin’?”

 

Peggy laughs, a bit self-consciously, and pulls her hand back. While she understands the impulse to assume that only someone incredibly rich would spend so much on a temporary bride, but she doesn’t like how that cheapens Steve’s gesture. “It was his mother’s actually, I believe.”

 

Angie’s face couldn’t be more a caricature of shock if she were trying; it’s really a shame the woman isn’t on the stage. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Peg, he gave you his mom’s _ring_? But like after the honeymoon, right?”

 

“No. He said the vows and put it on my finger, just like that.”

 

Peggy doesn’t think she’s ever seen Angie quiet. Not in the entire three years they’ve been friends has she stopped talking for more than a minute. Angie is silent for exactly two minutes and twenty-six seconds.

 

“Peg, is he a whack job? Did you marry somebody crazy? My cousin’s friend Nico married a girl, seemed nice enough, and then bam, he finds her running around stark naked under a full moon. Not even a Wiccan or anything. Just liked streaking.”

 

She finds herself laughing again—Peggy’s so often laughing around Angie. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve yet to find Steve running around stark naked anywhere he’s not supposed to be. He just… thought it would be a show of good faith.”

 

“Of good faith? Honey, half the girls at the office would kill for a ring that beautiful. I hear Nancy’s is starting to give her a rash and Carl’s not one for spending extra money.”

 

The silver band is loose enough to twist around her finger, though still snug enough not to worry her. “He’s thoughtful. Caring. He’s the kind of man to go out of his way to make you smile.”

 

“Holy crap, English.” Angie leans back. She even puts her sandwich down. “I think you got the real thing!”

 

Peggy ducks her head. Her cheeks heat slightly; she’s sure they’re a bit rosier than usual. “You know, Angie, I think you might be right.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah. Wow.”

 

Angie takes another bite of her sandwich. Peggy stirs her tea idly.

 

“Well, at least tell me the sex isn’t great”

 

Peggy barks out another laugh, this one loud enough to draw attention from the waitress. “Oh, that I could, Angie,” she replies, shaking her head.

 

“Oh, now that’s just not fair.”

 

* * *

 

He has Chinese food waiting when she gets home. They eat it cold, naked in bed. Peggy can’t say she’s angry about that.

 

“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?” she asks, digging her chopsticks into the noodles.

 

“Like settle down? Have roots and stuff?”

 

“I mean, you don’t have to grow a tree or anything. But where would you want to live, if you could live anywhere?”

 

“I’m assuming you mean besides the moon or anything like that.”

 

“Steve!”

 

He laughs and nudges her with his elbow. “Here. I mean, not _here_ here. But in New York somewhere. But I’m a homebody and this is the only home I’ve ever known.” He’s quiet for a long while, tucking into his own to-go box. And then, “Do you want to go back to England or something? Move somewhere else?”

 

It’s a good question, one she’d thought of long before she ever met him. But New York has been her home for years, even if she’s never lost the way she speaks. Peggy looks at him, tongue swiping over her lips as she thinks.

 

“I think… I’d like to travel,” she finally says. “But I don’t think I’d actually _live_ anywhere else. Maybe. For a job or something.”

 

Steve nods, lips pursed in thought. “Peg, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I am. It was just a long day. But I’ll be just fine.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Take-out box placed on the nightstand, Peggy pulls one of his arms around her so she can tuck into him. “I think I want to change your ring.”

 

He shifts, pushes a lock of hair out of her face. “Yeah?”

 

Peggy feels her cheeks heat, finds herself stumbling. “Yeah. Maybe. I mean, if we… in a few weeks.”

 

“Sure, Peg. Whatever you want. If it’s from you, I’ll wear it. Promise.”

 

What’s she supposed to do but kiss him for that?


	9. Chapter 9

Her nose tickles and Peggy snorts, tossing her head as it finally becomes irritating enough to drag her into consciousness. Her eyes drag open and she’s greeted with a flutter of white and then when she can focus more fully, Steve’s bright, teasing grin.

 

“Finally!” he exclaims, holding himself over her so his face is in her line of vision.

 

“Were you just tickling me with a _feather_?”

 

“We need new pillows.”

 

“We need to live in a house than eight million people haven’t also lived in,” she shoots back. 

 

Instead of responding, he scoops her up into his arms with a laugh, pulling her tight against him as he rolls onto his back. She laughs, hair falling in a curtain around them. Her gaze softens and she leans down, kissing him softly.

 

“That’s a halfway decent way to wake up.” She can feel his voice rumbling in his chest. 

 

“Only halfway? Now that’s just rude!” 

 

Immediately, she pretends to move way, but his grip tightens just enough to keep her there. She’s amazed at how any time he holds her she’s comfortable. After all, they’ve only known each other for three weeks. “Nope,” he laughs. “Stay right here.” 

 

Peggy lets him pull her back and allows him to support all of her weight. “You’re going to have to let me up eventually, you know.”

 

“We have to meet with Dr. Smith.” His words are careful, clipped; he’s worried how she’ll react. He knows how much she hates their visits to the counselor. 

 

“All the more reason to let me up then. I have to get ready and get at least twelve cups of coffee in my body.”

 

Steve gently pulls her face down for a kiss. “It’ll be fine, Peg. It will.” And then he lets her go; Peggy hesitates. She rather likes the warmth his hold provides and she doesn’t want to move. But finally, with a sigh, she pushed herself up to a seated position and began her day.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy feels Steve’s eyes on her, Dr. Smith’s eyes watching the exchange. All she wants is to run, get out. It’s hot—the room is stuffy, the air stale—and she hates the placid, intent look on the shrink’s face.

 

Slowly, Peggy looks up at Steve though she feels her cheeks grow warm. “Do _you_ want kids?” she asks.

 

“I believe Steve asked _you_ that question, Margaret,” Dr. Smith interjects. Peggy idly wonders if Steve would be her alibi if she murdered the man later.

 

“ _Do_ you?” she presses on, in spite of Smith’s objections.

 

“I mean…” Steve seems to be stammering—his flush runs all the way down his neck and under his shirt. It would be charming if she wasn’t so distracted by the possibilities presented by his answer.

 

He looks to Smith for help, but the doctor just sits back, now seemingly content to watch this exchange. Steve takes a deep breath, looks her dead in the eye. That surprises Peggy; she’s known him to be such a non-confrontational person it feels almost out of character.

 

“Yeah,” he says, pointblank. “I do.” 

 

His answer is clear, succinct. He offers no apologies, no tempering explanation, just watches her.

 

“Oh.”

 

Steve just waits, looking at her. She keeps waiting for him to break the tension, but he simply holds her gaze. He doesn’t even ask for her thoughts on it, just _waits_ .

 

“What about you, Margaret?”

 

The doctor’s voice shocks her; she’d been so focused on her husband’s gaze she’d nearly forgotten he was there. Maybe if she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d be more prepared, have a more tactful response ready. But she _is_ distracted and so the doctor’s words catch her off-guard. “I’ve never wanted them before,” she says and watches as Steve’s face falls.

 

She hates that she can hear Dr. Smith’s pencil scratching away on his notepad.

 

“I think we’re done here.” Peggy stands, movements sharp and decisive. She looks at Steve. “I want to go home.”

 

He nods, not meeting her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride home is tense. Steve’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. 

 

The silence remains the same inside the cramped little apartment. He goes to shower and Peggy tries to read, though she finds herself reading the same sentence over and over again. She keeps seeing his face in her mind, the way he seemed to shut down in that office, the way he hasn’t looked at her since then.

 

And then she starts to get angry- how _dare_ he be upset over what she wants from her own body! He isn’t the one who would have to bear children, be pregnant. He doesn’t get to just get angry and shut down without speaking to her!

 

The shower shuts off and Peggy is about to barge into the bathroom, ready to have words, when the door opens and Steve emerges in a towel and a cloud of steam.

 

She goes to stand up but he crosses and sits next to her. Now she’s the one watching as he gathers himself, a sigh stooping his shoulders as he runs his hand through his hair. 

 

“I want kids,” he says after a moment.

 

“So I gathered,” Peggy sniffs, but he immediately holds up his hand.

 

“Let me finish, Peg. Just… I need to say this.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“I want kids. I do. My dad wasn’t a good example but I’ve always wanted kids. It’s important to me.”

 

“I understand that, Steve.”

 

“Peggy.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

He shifts so he’s looking at her more directly. “I want kids. And these days, when I think about it, I want them with you.”

 

It’s terrifying and Peggy feels panic rising again, that same desire to get out overwhelming her.

 

Steve obviously can tell because he takes her hand. “It’s not a deal-breaker, Peggy. For me, it’s not a deal-breaker. If you want to have kids, I’ll be over the moon. But if not, it’s more important to me that you be happy with whatever life we build.”

 

She closes her eyes; they’re welling up.

 

“You’re too damn good,” she whispers.

 

“Just promise me you’ll think about it?” he asks.

 

She nods. It’s not like he’s asking much from her. Just consideration.

 

He pulls her into his arms and pressed against his bare skin like that, Peggy allows herself to melt.


End file.
